


All of Me

by GemmaRose



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Post-Episode: e048 Renovations, Renovations spoilers, Wordcount: 100-500
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:39:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1749842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil returns home, and Carlos is still missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All of Me

Cecil kicked his shoes off with a relieved groan. Two weeks. He’d spent two whole weeks in that thrice-damned labour camp, and now he was finally home. Food and a long hot shower could wait until morning. Right now, he needed to burrow under the covers of his own bed and sleep for ten hours.

Clothing was shed into the hamper’s general vicinity (he’d pick it up in the morning) and the lanky radio host collapsed onto the king sized bed. It was unmade, and slightly dusty from a fortnight of disuse (so much cleaning was going to be done this weekend) but it was soft and familiar. Curling up on his side, Cecil pulled the blanket over himself and mumbled good night. Unfortunately, sleep did not come. No matter how he shifted, or how many times he flipped and squished and punched the pillow, or how much he relaxed himself, he couldn’t seem to sleep. Sighing, he rolled over onto his other side and reached out to shake Carlos’s shoulder, to ask if the darker man was awake as well.

But Carlos wasn’t there, only a rumpled blanket and awkwardly folded pillow. It had been Carlos’s turn to make the bed, and the scientist only ever actually put things to rights just before he got home from the station. Cecil blinked hard and grabbed the sheet, still wrinkled from being slept on. He would not cry. Carlos was fine. His Carlos was fine, and before long a door would appear somewhere in his house and Dana or Maureen or one of the not-angel Erikas would come through with his beautiful, imperfect scientist in tow.

Carlos would be fine. He would find the imaginary mountain, and the former interns and the masked army, and he would come home covered in dirt and dust. He would take a shower, and then they would lie down and Cecil would be able to sleep again.

Carlos had to be fine. He had to be, or Cecil feared he would come apart at the seams.

Sitting up, the radio host scrubbed at his eyes with the side of a fist and swung his legs out of bed. Sleep would not be coming for him tonight, but Strex might be. And by the old Gods and everything he held dear, Cecil Palmer would not wait in the too-big bed like some helpless fairytale maiden.

His pajamas were still neatly folded in their drawer, and he pulled a bathrobe on over them to ward off the night’s chill. There was one of Janice’s baseball bats propped up in the corner of the living room, adorned with his old mitt and a dusty-but-new purple helmet. He set the helmet neatly on the floor, the mitt inside it, and hefted the solid wooden rod. It would do nicely.

The kitchen table was cool and dusty, and he sat down in his usual seat, facing the glass sliding door. They would come, and he would be ready for them.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something that wouldn't leave me alone after listening to Renovations.


End file.
